


angels we have heard on high

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Christmas, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Holidays, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Poker, Power Play, Snowed In, Threesome - F/F/M, Thriller, Tribadism, Urban Legends, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, beware the tags, but suffice to say it's smut meets christmas meets a murderer on the loose so, i'll add more tags as i finish up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: clarke griffin and harper mcintyre are taking a well-deserved long weekend before the holidays. little do they know when they settle into their cute cabin high in the mountains that there's a murderer on the loose.the last thing bellamy blake needs is to crash his truck doing an errand for his sister, the chief/everything office of mountain springs pd. but the two women who take him in are nothing like he expected.for all three of them, what was to be a quiet weekend before christmas changes everything.





	1. sire the night is darker now/and the wind blows stronger

**Author's Note:**

> HI. yes. i am alive. welcome to my "was going to write straight holiday smut, but decided to add murder too!" fic. i hope you enjoy. there's a lot of smut. and some murder. so pour some eggnog and settle in. 
> 
> this is dedicated to brandon, one of the best <3 and thanks to verbaepulchellae for the last minute beta!

Slate grey clouds had just begun to release tiny, crystalline snowflakes as Clarke pulled her Jeep up to the log cabin. Harper chose this cabin, remote and surrounded by spiky pine forest, for their couple’s retreat before both had to go home to their respective families. She was a romantic, Harper, and Clarke looked over and smiled at her girlfriend who had nodded off in the passenger seat. 

“We’re here, asshole,” Clarke whispered nudged her on the arm. She followed up with a kiss on the cheek. 

Harper grunted and squeezed her eyes tight. Not one fond of the process of waking up, that one. Clarke just continued kissing at her, down her neck until she reached Harper’s exposed collarbone and nipped. 

“What the fuck?” Harper scowled, arms raising above her head, in that way people do when they’re body forces them to stretch. 

“We’re here,” Clarke repeated, grinning at her. 

“Oh!” Harper opened her eyes. .“I must have been out--”

“About three hours. But come on,” Clarke popped the locks and pushed open the door. “This place looks great.”

Cold air bit at her cheeks as Clarke walked up the gravel driveway to the cabin. It was a small place, one bedroom, a common area, and a bathroom. The smell of fresh varnish gave a discordant note to the balsam-and-snow freshness, but Clarke took a deep breath and felt her body unwind. Every knot loosened, every worry and care from the end of her first semester lecturing at the Arkadia Design School floated away on the stiff breeze rustling through the pines. 

She turned to watch Harper come up the drive, still a cute mieu on her mouth and rosy blush on her cheeks from sleeping. Her heart gave a lurch--a happy one--as Harper looked up at her, hazel eyes wide, snowflakes landing on her eyelashes. For all Harper was an ex-Marine and SWAT badass, she was still beautiful in an utterly breathtaking, doe-eyed way. 

“Fire first,” Harper huffed as she made her way up the porch steps. She dropped a kiss, soft and sweet, on Clarke’s mouth, followed with the tip of her finger. “Then…”

Clarke returned the kiss, this time lingering on Harper’s lips, letting her tongue open the seam of her mouth. She pulled away just as Harper’s hands gripped her hips, tugging her close, wanting to forget making the fire. But Clarke leaned her forehead against Harper’s. “Then.”

*

The fire crackled and popped, and low Christmas piano music played as Harper straddled Clarke’s lap. Clarke leaned against Harper’s soft palm while Harper’s other hand played with Clarke’s cropped blonde waves. 

“So the fire’s made,” Harper whispered as she dropped her mouth onto Clarke’s forehead, then the bridge of her nose. “The clothes are put away. Your mom’s casserole is in the oven.” Harper’s lips feathered over Clarke’s cheekbone, down her jaw. Clarke tried to chase her mouth but Harper pulled playfully away, sitting up straight. “Seems like we’re tucked in for a nice, long weekend.”

Sitting up straight, Harper teased her t-shirt up and over her stomach with agonizing slowness. The firelight behind her gilded her tan skin and her toned abs. Harper tossed the shirt aside. 

“Fuck,” Clarke breathed, running her hands up and down Harper’s sides and over the lacey moss-green bra barely holding in Harper’s tits. “What about if we just...pop these out?” Clarke lifted one tit out and licked, nipped at the nipple, then blew on it until it tightened and Harper giggled a _that’s cold, stop_ to her. Clarke grinned at her and did the same to the other, taking longer this time. 

Clarke slid her hand up the strong column of Harper’s back and gripped a twist of her long, nut-brown hair. “I want you to keep your bra on for me, to frame your tits.” 

Harper nodded, said a breathless _yes_ , but still admonished, “Bossy.” 

Clarke didn’t deny it. She loved bossing Harper around and Harper was greedy for it. For all the super capable SWAT team leader she was, Harper loved to just follow orders in bed. And Clarke loved to be bossy as fuck. 

Clarke widened her thighs, letting Harper’s ass sink to the couch. “I want your mouth on my cunt, Harper.” 

Harper bit her lip and smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Harper slid the rest of the way down, hooking her fingers on the waistband of Clarke’s sweatpants and taking them with her to the floor. Clarke sat back, slouching into the soft microsuede. Clarke’s eyelids fluttered close as Harper nosed in between her thighs and nuzzled the already damp crotch. 

“Impatient,” Harper whispered against her thigh, following up with a kiss as she pulled the underwear over Clarke’s thighs and down her legs. “Already wet for me, babe.”

“How do you think I lasted the last hour of the drive? Just thinking about you between my thighs and fucking your face.” 

Harper hummed, and Clarke felt the gust of breath on her now bare pussy. “Come on, Harper, lick it,” she growled at her girlfriend, feeling the languid pull of arousal becoming more potent. 

Harper looked up and locked eyes with Clarke, making sure Clarke watched her as she lowered her mouth to Clarke’s cunt. 

And there it was, finally, the wet-velvet of Harper’s tongue against her hot cunt. Clarke moaned, spreading her thighs further, gripping her tit in her hand. “Shit, that feels so good.” 

Harper continued licking broad, filthy-wet stripes against Clarke’s slit, until even the low light of the lamps glinted across Harper’s cheek. Clarke’s hips undulated with Harper, and she had edged herself enough. 

“Suck on my clit, Harper.” 

Harper mewled, getting pouty like she liked when she wanted to do something else. “But I think your pussy needs my fingers--”

“Harper,” Clarke pitched her voice low, dominant. “Put your tongue on my clit.” She paced every word out evenly, knowing that it would rile Harper’s bratty-submissive side. Harper was a domineering badass out in the streets, but in the sheets with Clarke? She loved nothing more than being bossed around and acting like a little shit about it--and she knew that it made Clarke (happily, erotically) wild. 

But for now, Harper demurred, too greedy for the taste of Clarke’s come to be more defiant. She pressed her tongue against Clarke’s nub, hard, pulsing, relentless, that mouth of hers not letting up even as Clarke started fucking against her. 

“Shit, shit shit, I’m going to come.” Brilliant, dazzling white burst in the darkness behind her eyelids as and orgasm rocketed through Clarke’s body. 

Before the world was even set right, still vibrating from coming, Clarke pulled Harper up to the couch. “Sit on the back of the couch, and open your fucking legs,” Clarke ordered. 

Harper complied, her shallow breath causing her tits to rise and fall quickly. Shit, Clarke wanted to just spread Harper out on the couch and fuck her until they both saw stars. But first she wanted to feel Harper’s tight cunt clamp down on her fingers. 

Clarke slid her fingers along Harper’s seam, coating them with her arousal, circling Harper’s clit with the rough pad of her thumb. Harper moaned and canted her hips forward, revealing more of herself to Clarke. 

“Ready for it, Harp?” Clarke murmured. She trailed her fingers down to Harper’s opening, penetrating with just the tip. 

“Fuck, Clarke, fuck me,” Harper whined. 

“Please.” 

Harper rolled her eyes, wanted to sass, but clearly her body wanted release. “Please.”

Satisfied--and smirking--Clarke slowly pushed her one, then two, then three fingers into Harper’s cunt. She watched as goosebumps pricked their way upwards over Harper’s belly, tightening her nipples, causing Harper’s mouth to drop open in a slight pant. Clarke loved watching her fingers widen and stretch Harper out, the hypnotic way her wrist, palm, fingers and Harper’s cunt, hips, thighs, all seamlessly moved together. 

Clarke leaned in to flick her tongue across Harper’s cunt, making it filthy, messy, just like Harper liked it. Soon she could feel Harper’s slick, vise-like walls fluttering around her. 

Harper fucked onto Clarke’s hand, riding out her orgasm with low sighs. She took Clarke’s hand after she slid down from the top of the couch, licked it clean while Clarke watched. 

“That’s a pretty good start to our vacation,” Clarke murmured a moment later. They were squished together on the couch, Harper on the inside next to the cushions, Clarke’s leg hooked around her with her foot buried in the cushion seam. 

Harper nuzzled in, eyelids already closing for a post-coital nap. “You just murdered me with an orgasm, that’s all.”

Clarke chuckle and kissed her nose. “Not a bad way to go, considering.” 

Harper’s lips lifted into a faint grin, and then she was softly breathing. Clarke kissed her forehead, closed her eyes, and fell into a contented, velvety, slumber. 

*

Harper pulled back the lace curtains and peered out, her breath fanning out and frosting the glass. “It’s really coming down out there.” 

Clarke sidled alongside her and handed over a cup of steaming spiked coffee. She pressed her thumb gently to the furrow between Harper’s eyebrows. “You worried about being snowed in?”

“Maybe a little. Maybe about being snowed in with a craven sex fiend like yourself.” Harper took a taste of the coffee and coughed. “Jesus, Clarke, is that Sambuca?”

“And brandy.” 

Harper rolled her eyes. “You’re so pretentious.” 

Clarke smirked. “You love it.” 

“Maybe.” Harper paused and took another sip, playfully averting her eyes. “But if I have to hear another story of _when I was in France…_ ”

“You don’t seem to mind the dildos and lingerie I brought back from France.”

“Touche.” 

Clarke turned back to the window. Drifts of snow piled against the porch, and now the driveway was barely visible. She pulled out her phone and clicked on the homescreen, only to to see her bars empty. 

“Oh shit.” She looked up at Harper and showed her the phone screen. 

Harper picked her phone up from the end table and frowned. “Same for me. There’s a radio in the kitchen. We should see if there are any weather warnings out.” She walked over to the glossy pine-plank bar and fiddled with the dials of the squat, mint-green vintage radio. The signal crackled and fizzed, clearing up as Harper found the right station. 

The voice that came through the speakers was refreshingly human instead of the NOAA weather service bot. “This is Monty Green from Mountain Springs Acess News, AM 1500 Weather. Winter Storm Dante will drop between twelve and eighteen inches of snow in the next twenty-four hours. Blizzard conditions are expected to develop in the late night hours, peak winds gusting at 45 miles per hour. Conditions have developed which will cause this storm to be worse than previously expected. Travelers are advised to seek shelter as soon as possible. Roads in the upper elevations are already reported as impassable, with lower elevations soon to follow. Thunder snow, snow, and ice are all expected. Take shelter immediately….AM 1500 will keep you updated as any developments occur. This just in, KQLD has just received a new bulletin from Mountain Springs Police--” Harper clicked off the radio. 

Clarke saw the disappointment on Harper’s face and drew her in, sliding her arm around her waist and tugging her close. “Babe, you don’t have to worry. This place has a back-up-generator, emergency water and canned goods, _and_ my mom sent us with enough food for like, three weeks.”

Harper smiled. “It’s true. It just means…”

“Missing Christmas with our families.” And Clarke did feel a hot surge of disappointment at that. After several difficult years, it finally felt like she and her mom and Kane were finding their footing again. “I know. But we’ll be together, and safe, and warm.”

“And we knew it was a risk.”

“Yeah. We did. ” Harper sighed and did that thing she did--closing her eyes and stretching her neck, rolling out the bad feelings she called it. Focusing on what was at hand. “And, you know. It’ll be nice. We have everything we need, like you said. And we haven’t had much time for us lately, you know?”

“I do,” Clarke murmured. “You’re so busy with all of your trainings.”

“And you have your classes,” Harper grinned and nosed her. “Don’t just put this on me, Griffin.”

Clarke leaned into kiss her, slow and hot, the memories of just an hour before still present between them as Harper slotted her hips against Clarke’s. Clarke pushed back, widening her legs so Harper’s thigh could fit through. 

Just as Clarke gave into the grind, fresh panties growing damp again, a flash of bright headlights speared through the darkening kitchenette. Tires squealed, followed by a thump and _crunch_. 

Clarke and Harper jumped apart, and before either of them thought about it, pulled on boots and jackets and bolted outside. 

Fat, icy flakes pelted and swirled around Clarke in the indigo winter twilight. She was thankful that the garage lights flooded yard with a fluorescent glow. 

“A truck? Or car?” Harper yelled above the gusts. 

Clarke shook her head. “I just saw headlights.”

Fuck, she wished she put on pants. The snow numbed her exposed calves, and even Harper, fearless snowbunny that she was, looked decidedly unhappy as the wind slapped at their faces. 

“Over there,” Harper shouted, nodding her head in front of Clarke. It took 

Clarke’s eyes a second to adjust to the dark/light differential--they had wandered a fair bit away from the house down the drive--to see a tall shape--a man--lumbering towards them in the now knee-deep snow. 

Harper and Clarke exchanged a look-- _is it safe? What do we do?_ \--right as the man hailed them. 

“My truck crashed, but I was driving here anyway.” Both of his hands were cupped around his mouth. He stood there for a moment and Clarke could see that he seemed just as unsure as they. 

Clarke and Harper exchanged a look. Harper took a step closer. “Why?”

His eyes darted between them, seeming incredulous, but also exasperated. Clarke frowned. What did they do to deserve that? Christ. They didn’t even know this dude. “To make sure that you heard the news--the bulletin that the state police just sent out. My sister called me, said she knew that Jasper had it rented out for the weekend.” 

“Fuck, it’s too cold to do this out here,” Clarke muttered. It might not be the safest thing to do, and he kind of seemed like a dick, but they couldn’t leave him out there to freeze, and she recognized the first signs of frostbite on her cheeks. They were the closest cabin in at least half a mile, and it was clear that the roads were blocked. And if he had news--

God, it felt like a set-up and it made her uneasy as fuck. 

Clarke moved to Harper’s side. “You’re a cop,” she said in a low voice. 

“And you’ve done a lot of martial arts.” 

The shared a loaded look. 

“We can’t leave him out here to freeze to death,” Harper said finally, glancing at the man. It was almost comical--he was trying not to appear impatient, but not quite succeeding. 

Clarke shook her head. “No.” 

Harper sighed. “I’ll call it in when have phone service. Let someone know. It’s the best we can do. And he says there’s something about a bulletin--”

“Could be a trap.”

Harper nodded. “Could be.” She paused for a moment. “I have my issue in my bag--”

“Harper!”

She slit her eyes to Clarke. “You’re glad I brought it now, aren’t you?”

Mollified, Clarke closed her mouth and looked back out into the fast-falling snow. 

“Thought so. You distract him with something like coffee when we get inside. I’ll go to the bedroom and get the gun. Then we ask some questions, okay?” 

Clarke nodded just as his patience ran out, and the man yelled at them. “Look guys, I hate to break up your tete-a-tete but I’m fucking freezing here, and it’s not safe to be outside.”

The gestured for the man to come to them. He was taller than he first appeared, and Clarke could barely make out his features he was so swaddled in scarves and caps and jackets. They all appeared to be hand-knitted or vintage--but top-quality survival gear. 

“I’m Clarke,” she said. 

“Bellamy,” he answered gruffly. “I live just up the mountain.” 

“Harper,” Harper said, but her voice snatched away by the wind almost instantly. Bellamy nodded back to her, and then they were silent the rest of the way to the cabin, focused only on putting one step forward in the quickly mounting snow. 

Panting by the time they reached the patio, all three stomped the snow off their boots and shoved inside once Harper flung the door open. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clarke chanted, pulling off her sodden socks and thin cardigan. Harper joined her, but Bellamy wasn’t so rushed. He slowly unwound his scarf and pulled off his balaclava, revealing damp but curling black-brown hair and golden tan skin, even in winter. 

Harper gave Clarke the smallest nod and said brightly, “I’m going to get some fresh clothes. Clarke, want to make our guest some coffee?”

“Sure,” Clarke said easily. “You drink coffee? We also have tea, bourbon…”

“Coffee’s fine.” Bellamy’s voice was gruff, bordering on rude, and Clarke raised her eyebrow. But he didn’t seem to notice, or care, training his eyes on the wall behind her. 

And that’s when she realized that she only had on her cold, sodden white undershirt after having shucked her boots, sweater, and muffs. The tight nubs of her nipples peaked the wet shirt, through the now damp silk bra. 

Clarke swallowed, hoping that the hot crimson blush didn’t show up from her cold-flushed cheeks. She grabbed a blanket off the couch as they passed and wrapped it around her, towel-style. 

“Sorry about that.”

He nodded. 

Silence. 

God, this motherfucker. 

“So what do you do--?” She prompted, hoping for a name, trying to break the uneasy silence of both having a stranger in your home and also inadvertently giving him the wet-t-shirt goods. 

“Bellamy. I’m a professor.” 

Clarke pulled the coffee tin out. “Of?”

Was that annoyance that crossed his face? Christ, what was his deal? “History.” 

Clarke restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but it was close. She tapped the ground into the basket, took the carafe and started filling it with water. “Any specialization?” she asked, barely keeping the grit out of her voice. 

“Military, mostly ancient military but I also do some theory around more modern warfare.” Even his longest answer was clipped. He seemed so uneasy, so _aware_ of both Clarke and Harper, and Clarke couldn’t tell if it made her feel like he was just an asshole or if she should be suspicious. 

But she fell on the side of trying not to pay it any mind. She didn’t know this guy, and the only duty she had to him was one human to another. Today that meant making sure he didn’t freeze to death. The cabin had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and plenty of space for them to keep their distance and ride out the blizzard if they must. 

Harper appeared from the back of their bedroom just as Clarke set the coffee to percolate. She looked dry and happy, dressed in fresh jeans and a black tanktop, covered by a white-and-silver fleece. Only Clarke could see the slight tightening at the corner of her eyes. 

“So, Bellamy,” Harper said, her voice taking on that cop-like authority. “I don’t want to make this awkward, but I think we need to know some more about you before we settle in for the night.” 

Bellamy’s eyes slid to the side of her jacket. “What’re you carrying there? Standard Glock?”

Clarke’s eyes widened, but Harper didn’t look bothered. “Good guess.” 

“You seemed like a cop. If you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t,” Harper replied, eyebrow raising. Not missing a beat, “Can I see some ID? Just so we know who you are.”

“Sure,” Bellamy said, and with one hand raised the other slid into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open with the flick of his wrist and handed it out to Harper. “My name is Bellamy Blake. I’m a professor at Mount Weather University. In there you’ll find my license, school ID--”

“Bellamy Blake,” Harper interrupted. Clarke watched, confused, as Harper’s face lit up, smile glowing 1000 watts. 

He looked startled. “Um. Yes.”

“I should have known,” Harper laughed, handing him back his wallet. “Octavia’s big brother?”

“How do you know Octavia?” There was a thread of resistance, protection in his voice. 

But Harper was unperturbed. “We trained together last summer. She talked about her big brother the academic who liked to hole up in the mountains during his breaks, bother her like nothing else.” 

For the first time Bellamy’s countenance lightened up, and there was a smirk on his face. “Yeah, that’d be her all right. She’s the chief up in these parts, coordinates a backcountry rescue team.” 

“Yeah! That’s great. Well, good to meet you, and we’re glad to have you.” 

Clarke pulled some mugs down from the cabinet, opened the fridge to set out the half-and-half. “Sorry we were so cagey. Two women alone in a blizzard and all.”

“I understand,” Bellamy replied. He still didn’t seem completely at easy, and there was still a gruff, gravelly to his voice. But his shoulders had relaxed and while Clarke wouldn’t say he was _at-ease,_ he also wasn’t uneasy. “I know it seems weird to have a strange guy coming to your cabin. But Octavia wanted me to make sure that everyone in the area was aware of the bulletin that had gone out, and as far as she figured, you guys were the only ones left who needed a welfare check.”

“A welfare check for what?” Harper frowned. 

Bellamy licked his lips, looking back and forth between them. “There’s a serial killer. Or a spree killer. Some combo of the two, on the loose. They just determine that right before the blizzard hit.” 

A thrill of fear-frisson skittered up Clarke’s spine. “Oh shit.” 

“We’ve had a couple of unexplained deaths up here in the past couple of months. Enough so that Octavia and Miller, her partner, had alerted some surrounding PDs, especially as they got more...” Bellamy shifted his weight and for the first time an uneasiness flitted across his features. “Let’s just say, they became more serious. This morning, before the blizzard set in, Octavia got a distress call from some snow-shoer passing by the old Martin cabin. It was on fire, and there were two bodies, eviscerated, laying out in the snow. _Laid_ out in the snow, their corpses moved so that their were snow angels filled with blood under them.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harper swiped the back of her hand across her mouth like she did when she was trying to get her emotions in order. 

Clarke swallowed thickly. “And did that follow the pattern that Octavia and Miller had noticed?”

Bellamy nodded once to her. “Yeah. The killer had shown an increasing interest in disemboweling and...well, some sort of lobotomy. Always with angels, though. Octavia said it always seemed like he was responding to something unseen, it was all very well developed by the scene this morning and peculiar.”

“Well, it’s a serial killer,” Harper snorted. “They’re always peculiar.”

“True. Anyway.” Bellamy’s shoulders sagged, just for a moment, at the end of the telling. Like he was relieved to get it off his chest. “Before I crashed I had alerted all the cabins up the way because Octavia and Miller were at the actual scene, had to process it before the blizzard and get back to HQ in town. So I told them I’d tell everyone up this way. You guys were the last.”

“Well, fuck,” Harper laughed caustically. “Stuck on a mountain for our romantic couple’s retreat with a serial killer.” 

Clarke shivered. She suddenly noticed that the curtains to the living room were open--had been open--even when she and Harper were having sex. _Someone--anyone could have seen--would we have known?_

Clarke tried to play it cool, as much for herself as for Harper. She nudged Harper’s shoulder and offered her a smile. “I told you we should have gone to that spa in Palm Springs.” 

Harper smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You did. I should have listened.”

Clarke shrugged a little bit, playing up the cuteness so Harper would laugh. “You should always listen to me.” 

“True enough.” Harper giggled, but Clarke could clearly see all the different wheels turning. Cop Harper, Girlfriend Harper, Hostess Harper, Survivor Harper, all trying to balance with this unexpected situation. “So, Bellamy. We have food and power. Movies, games. And an extra bedroom to boot. So you’re welcome here until all this clears out.” 

He tipped his head. “Thanks. And I’m sorry about this.” 

Clarke waved it away as she swanned passed both Harper and Bellamy in her blanket-dress to go back into the kitchen for the coffee. She felt both of their eyes on her and tried not to preen even as her belly flipped a little. _A long weekend, snowbound…_ She didn’t feel safe, exactly, not with a murderer on the loose, but she couldn’t deny that the thrill of fear-adrenaline mixed potently with the erotic heat building in her belly. 

Clarke licked her suddenly dry lips. “No worries. We’ll make it fun.”

*


	2. interlude i

He loved the blood. 

The rich, silky feel of it as it cascaded down his arms. The heat of a body as he plunged his hands into the abdominal cavity and drew out the warm, steaming organs. 

Vital. Beautiful. _Alive_. 

_Why the angels?_ He had once asked Her. He had just stepped back to examine his work outside, two bodies laying in gentle repose on the glittering snow. Blood filled in under them. Their eyes were blank, clear, as they stared into the white-blue winter heavens. 

She cocked her head. Her smile was a crimson slash on Her face. “That is the easiest way for them to understand me,” She answered. 

Always cryptic. But he understood. She knew all--She _was_ all. And She gave each of them a chance to turn towards Her, towards the Light. When they refused, he did Her bidding, and ushered them into the City as a sacrifice. 

_Who next_? Otan asked Her. Through binoculars, he watched the Octavia, his childhood friend, and Nathan Miller, the guy who bullied him, and several others canvass the scene in front of the old Martin cabin. No one knew of the old hunting blind on the property--he and Emori used to escape there in the summer when the fighting at home became too much. It was the perfect place to hide and watch the distant figures scurry about in the building storm. 

He pulled the binoculars away and watched as She considered her options. 

_The Blake cabin?_ Otan offered. Bellamy always holed up there in the winter. As much as Octavia was his friend, Bellamy was always a dick to him. His fingers twitched at the thought of revenge, of besting the asshole that was always quick to slice him with words and a derisive look. 

She paused. _No_ , She said finally. _No one is there._

_He was just a few hours ago._

_No one is there_ , She returned sharply and Otan silenced. _There’s a cabin west of there, a little lower in elevation--_

_Jasper Jordan’s place,_ Otan said, nodding. _I know it_. 

_There_ , She looked at him and smiled, clasping Her hands in front of Her. _Take me there_. 


	3. in the bleak midwinter

“Beer? Wine?” Clarke offered after she returned from the bedroom with dry clothes. She had chosen the leggings that gave her ass just a little extra lift, and the heather grey v-neck that Harper loved. Coincidentally, it showed a smidge cleavage than was proper. Just to emphasize the point, Clarke clasped on a thin silver chain necklace with an aquamarine teardrop that fell right above the swell of her breasts. Just testing the waters, was all. 

Bellamy cleared his throat. “Beer sounds great.”

Harper had caught the game immediately and raised her eyebrow, half-admonishment, half-amusement, one hundred percent _you cannot be serious_. She and Harper were regulars on the play party and kink scene in their area, and Harper knew damn well what the gleam in Clarke’s eyes meant. 

Clarke grinned in response and deliberately brushed her tits against Harper as she squeezed past her into the kitchen. 

“Clarke--” Harper’s tone was a warning. “There’s a serial killer.”

“Yeah? And? There’s nothing wrong with a little...appreciation.”

Harper couldn’t help but smile even as caution threaded through her voice. “We don’t know him.”

Clarke looked out to the living room where Bellamy sat on the plush couch. Just hours ago Clarke’s face was buried in Harper’s thighs, right where his head was. She swallowed thickly at the hot pull in her cunt and dropped a kiss on Harper’s neck. “You know I have high standards.” Clarke paused, taking a sip and letting the crisp, cool taste of the beer settle her. Harper was on edge, and damnit, Clarke wasn’t going to let this ruin their long weekend. They had worked so hard for this break. So she went for humor instead. 

“Look, if we can’t get home, we can at least have a threesome.”

That startled a little laugh out of Harper. “Clarke--”

“Listen, babe, one does not turn down Santa. And clearly, he dropped this gift at our doorstep.”

Harper swiped Clarke’s beer away and took a long pull. “Unless Santa is a serial killer.”

“Kinky.” Clarke pecked Harper on the cheek. “It’ll be okay, all right?” 

“Just, not tonight, okay? Let’s just slow roll it, sleep on it, and if the tension--”

Clarke nudged Harper with her hip, raised her eyebrows. “So you _do_ feel it.”

“I’d have to be dead not to, Christ. But we’re going to sleep on it, okay? If the vibe is still there tomorrow, we can...you know.”

“Stir the pot a little?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” 

Harper sighed and picked up the knife to continue chopping vegetables. “You’re such a domme,” she muttered, but not sounding like she really minded at all. 

Clarke winked at her as she grabbed the bottles . “You know it.”

*

Bellamy was a little weird, maybe, Clarke decided as they moved from the dinner table back to the living room. But not like, creepy weird. Just awkward, and, Clarke thought, maybe a little too used to being alone. What he described was frankly pretty lonely, despite having his sister, Niylah, and Roan living not too far away. 

“Your sister’s a trip.” The wine made Harper’s cheeks blush prettily and the candles Clarke had lit (“To save some power,” she insisted. “Yeah, right,” Harper snorted). 

“She fools you,” Bellamy agreed, this time taking the lounger across from the couch. Clarke sat in the corner of the couch and Harper curled up against her, pulling the scarlet chenille blanket down over them both. “You think she’s all serious with no sense of humor, and then--”

“Then she puts blood bait into your vents.”

Bellamy laughed, the sound shocking away the last of his reticence. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I taught her that. She was getting teased by the boys at camp one year, so...”

“So I have you to blame. Ah hah,” Harper picked up an Andes chocolate from the coffee table and flicked it at him. He caught it smoothly, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. 

“It’s true,” Clarke said. “She got home from training, and I wouldn’t touch her for a week.”

Harper snuggled down onto Clarke’s side. “So mean.” 

He grinned at both of them. “She’s always been competitive, for sure.” 

Clarke met his gaze. “What about you? Like younger sister, like older brother?”

Bellamy’s grin grew a fraction and a charge snapped in the room. Clarke felt Harper shift against her, felt the slide of Harper’s hands between her thighs threatening to pinch if she went too far. 

“I guess you could say I’m competitive.”

“But the quiet type?” Harper piped up and Clarke tried to hide her surprise at Harper’s flirtatious tone. 

Bellamy took a sip of wine and looked at them both over the glint of crystal. “I guess you could say I like the surprise ending.”

“The twist you don’t see coming?” Clarke laughed. 

“Exactly.” Bellamy paused for a moment, frowning into his glass. “Sorry, that was weird.”

“No worries.” _He’s not the killer_ , Clarke reminded herself. _He’s Octavia’s brother_. 

But there was a pregnant pause anyway, and Clarke felt a sudden swell of unease, a prickle at her neck. A log on the fire cracked and split, sending a shower of sparks up the flue, and she jumped. Bellamy regarded her for a long moment, eyes hooded. The wind howled around the cabin like a ghostly chorus. Clarke wondered for a moment if she felt uneasy because of him--but that wasn’t it. It was suddenly something else, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

Harper’s pushed herself up to seated. “Should we play a game?” she asked, a touch too brightly. 

“That sounds great. We could always do charades or telephone pictionary…” Clarke trailed off, then had an idea. A distracting idea that would keep her from ruminating on that niggle of something she couldn’t quite place. “But I’m feeling some Texas Hold-Em.”

“Sounds good.” Bellamy slid his glass onto the coffee table and followed Clarke’s lead of settling on the floor while Harper dug out the cards out of their luggage. “What are we betting?”

_For tonight?_ Clarke smiled to herself. “Just pride, tonight. We didn’t bring out chips. When it’s just the two of us we play with different stakes.” 

She let the implication settle in the air and smooth over the previous awkwardness. Bellamy eyed her, assessing, curious, meeting her gaze and not breaking it. The question was clear: _are you setting the stage for what I think?_

Clarke answered with her own eyebrow raise, a _we’ll see, won’t we?_

“More wine?” She stood and held out her hand, ostensibly for the glass. But she wanted more information, wanted to touch him, just to _see_. 

“Sure.” His voice was low and rough. He held out his glass. 

Clarke reached for it, grazing his hand, not lingering, just enough to feel the confidence, the callous, the warmth. “Red?” She didn’t bother keeping the husk out of her voice. 

“Sounds great.” 

“Do I need to remind you I said not tonight,” Harper murmured to Clarke as Clarke passed her on the way to the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry.” Clarke took Harper’s glass out of her fingers for good measure, this time lingering to offer a comforting swipe of skin-on-skin and a grin.“Just setting the stage.” 

*

Later, after Harper had won all the pride and Clarke and Bellamy had agreed they’d been roundly defeated, and all three of them were happily-tired-drunk, they said their goodnights. It was strained and electric and no one quite wanted to split up, and that was just where Clarke wanted it for the morning. 

“You’re so mischievous,” Harper whispered as she slid into bed after locking the door. 

Clarke grinned and nestled further into the bedding. “I recall it’s the same mischievousness that attracted you to me in the first place.” 

Harper hummed and sidled closer to Clarke, grabbing Clarke’s hand and putting it right between her thighs. 

“Shit,” Clarke breathed. “You’re so wet.” Clarke gave Harper’s cunt a stroke, settling her fingers on Harper’s clit. 

Harper lifted her hips and moaned as Clarke lightly slid her fingers up and down the sides of her labia, not giving her the pressure she wanted, not yet. 

“More,” Harper whined after a moment. 

“Be quiet,” Clarke commanded, kissing her hard and catching Harper’s bottom lip between her teeth. “We have a guest, remember?”

“Fuck.” Harper’s nipples drew up tight at that; voyeurism had always been a kink of hers. “Shit.”

“You like that? Are you going to disobey and be a little loud?” Clarke leaned down and flicked her tongue across Harper’s rock hard nipples. Harper gasped, then bit her lip, not knowing whether or not she wanted to test Clarke yet or submit. 

So Clarke tested her. 

Clarke pushed two fingers into Harper. Harper’s back arched, tits pushing up, but she bit down hard to contain that vibrated inside her. 

“Good girl.” Clarke rewarded her with grinding her palm against her swollen clit, letting Harper bear down on her and find that pressure that she can’t get enough of. It wasn’t long before Clarke curled four fingers into Harper, hitting that spot, filling Harper up while Clarke sucked mercilessly on her nipple. Harper came in ragged, shaking waves, but silent. After only a moment to recover, Harper rolled Clarke over and slotted them together, finding the perfect fit of fleshy friction and smooth slide, riding Clarke until they orgasmed in tandem, curling into each other. Clarke silenced her scream by biting Harper’s shoulder and Harper leaned into it, knowing--and loving--that she’d have a mark there tomorrow. 

Sometime later, silence startled Clarke awake. The howl of the wind had quieted and there was only the silky whisper of falling snow. Harper’s breath was muggy and warm and comforting on her chest and Clarke hugged her close, dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. Harper stretched her legs and the sheets rustled; she sighed and slid deeper into sleep. 

It was then that Clarke realized it wasn’t the quiet that had woken her. It couldn’t be--there the wind was again, gusting against the sides of the house, screeching like nails being drawn across the glass of the windows. It hadn’t ever stopped, not long enough for that to be what woke her. 

No. No, what had woken her was the feeling that she’d had all night. Only now, it had a name. 

It was the distinct feeling of being watched. 


End file.
